Moonlit Ivy
by heartonpins
Summary: There was once a little Prince and a little fairy who were unlikely friends. They shared a strange bond, then again nothing is strange in the world of the fae. A retake on the history of a tragic boy who meets a tragic girl and perhaps both finding comfort in their own ways.
1. Chapter 1

_Come away O human child_

_To the waters and the wild_

_With a faery, hand in hand_

_For the world more full of weeping_

_Than he can understand_

Marseille, 1872

In the early autumn afternoon, a pair of horse drawn carriages steadily made their way down a coastal country road. They had had a long journey behind them from Paris and the occupants were enjoying the fresh, ocean air.

"There on that island, is that the Chateau D'if?" The woman asked. She was young and very beautiful, with her travel gown and soft hair done up in curls. The three men she traveled with were equally handsome, one with bobbed hair and the other a ponytail, and the last cropped.

"That's right," replied one of the gentleman, "The prison from The Count of Monte Cristo!"

"Ah, you have quite interesting tastes!" She said, "I'd love to live a a guard there, chasing after the young handsome boys."

They laughed, all except one who's attention had been away from the coast and towards inland. The woman regarded him, noticing his distant attitude, and signed.

"Monsieur, you always seem to be rather bored, don't you?" His attention was quickly brought back to the company in his car. "Even though you're returning home after having been away for five years,"

"Never mind him, Lady Sophia, just leave him be." replied the ponytailed man, Jean-Pierre. "Auguste Beau has grown tired of la vie en rose. So we should not concern ourselves with him and be free to enjoy ourselves."

Lady Sophia was not so much satisfied with the response, for she hoped to get some sort of expression out of him, but said nothing. Instead she returned her attention to the coastline.

The carriage began an incline as their destination was nestled on a hillside, landscaped by manicured trees and shrubs and with a beautiful view of the harbor town.

"Bravo!" Jean-Pierre announced, "I see it! The castle of Cherubim de la Mer!"

"It completely surpasses what I've heard about it," said the other man.

Their carriage pulled through the impressive set of iron gates and entered the drive leading to the manor. The eager party disembarked, the guests in the first car, their servants in the second.

"Come now, dear." Spoke Sophia to the remaining occupant of the carriage. Down stepped a girl around the age of nine or so, with long copper hair done in ringlets set against pale skin and curious gray eyes. Held in her arms was a doll not unlike herself.

"Will we go to the shore, Aunt Sophia?"

"Perhaps," she replied, non committal, "It's quite far but perhaps one day we will take a scenic walk. Now, come along."

The vast openness of the outer corridor with pillars creeping with vines was the perfect frame to the scenery beyond. Their marveling was cut short when across their path a child ran after a rabbit. He was small and doll like with golden hair and green eyes, dressed in a lace blouse and pants. Though completely unaware, his presence stunned the guests.

"Aunt, might I go play with the boy?"

"Sshh, Clara," Sophia shushed the girl clinging to her hand.

The boy wasted no time, nor did he seem to care about them as he ran away as quickly as he appeared. Clara continued to watch where the child had run away with a pointed gaze until she was pulled along by her aunt to follow the others to the back entrance. Only servants would enter through this way and this was made evident as a maid witnessed their arrival and immediately began to fret. As it turned out, it was more than just propriety she was concerned with.

They were hastily lead back to the front entrance, enjoying the scenery of the trees and floral bushes along the way. They're reception was proper, the servants lining near the base of the grand staircase, ready and accounted for. After greetings and brief introductions were made, the guests were ready to settle in after their long drive.

"Lunch is already over. We'll prepare some tea."

"I would like to rest in my room until dinner."

''Madmoiselle, this way please.''

The chaos of moving guests and servants filled the entry way. Having their master of the house returned was an event many of the young maids were excited over. Up staircases and down hallways they were escorted until they reached the guest bedrooms.

''This will be your room, Madmoiselle.'' The maid bowed her head near the opened door.

The room was quite lavish, but one had to wonder how much use it received as no one was in the house save the staff. Still, it was kept in pristine condition and would suit Sophia perfectly for her stay.

''Will the young miss be staying with you as well?''

''If the room next door is available, she will stay there. Is that all right with you, Clara? ''

Clara had been doing her silly little thing of staring of into the hallway, as she did rather often as of late. Looking for something that wasn't there. She was snapped back to attention when addressed.

''Yes, ma'am.''

Papa was a funny rabbit. He was always wanting to hop away. Even though he didn't mind being held, he always preferred the freedom of the outdoors. No one else seemed to mind him either. In his desire to see Papa returned, young Gilbert had bolted after him for much of the afternoon, neither heeding their name being called.

Finally having caught Papa, his 'governess' had caught up with him far out into the property. ''Young Master! You have to eat dinner soon as there are many guests this evening!''

''I'm not hungry yet!'' He replied and there went Papa again. Her chastising of going to bed without dinner fell on deaf ears. Papa finally stopped but in the quiet, Gilbert heard voices speaking merrily somewhere down the slope.

The guests that had arrived earlier were taking a stroll before dinner. The men were handsome in their outerwear suits and so unlike the male servants of the house. The women wore dresses that made them look much like a walking bell. There was a smaller girl with them. He had never seen another child. Her hair was long and quite red. She held a doll in her arms who was so meticulously dressed, it almost looked like a tiny version of herself. She was separate from the group, having been distracted by a patch of flowering clover that had formed the queer shape of a circle.

So transfixed by this sight, Gilbert was unaware he had been leaning over the steep decline. By the time he realized it, he had lost his balance and was sent tumbling down towards the group. Needless to say everyone was startled, so much so that three of the guests were sent into a heap on the ground.

''What is it?!''

''A wild boar?''

''No! It's a child, you idiot! As if there would be a wild boar this close to the sea!''

''Look!'' Exclaimed Sophia, who had not fallen and had seen the entire spectacle. She picked up the boy from under his arms and held him up. ''He was so surprised he lost consciousness with his eyes open!''

Jean-Pierre clapped his hands before the boys face to wake him up.

"What a lovely child. His eyes are so bright.'' Sophia remarked.

''Is it a boy or girl?'' Her female companion asked.

''It's the child from earlier!''

Passed the group of fawning adults stood the girl who regarded him with a most interested expression. The two eyed each other until a white blur dated away from the group.

''Papa, wait! Papa!'' Gilbert shouted, and to the surprise of everyone, he was off again.

Their first dinner was to be an extravagant meal, a chance for the cooks to impress their guests who occupied the sitting room. Dressed in their finest dinner attire, they laughed and recounted the day's events.

''I was really surprised!'' Sophia said, ''He said everything with such a blank expression. When I thought he might cry, the first thing he says is 'Papa'.''

''It's strange to call a rabbit 'Papa', isn't it?''

''Oh and the way he looked at Clara! I do hope they'll get along.''

"Do you think he's the child of one of the servants?"

Clara had been idly exploring the room, as sitting around as adults so enjoyed doing made her anxious. She had stopped when she heard her name, but it was only in passing conversation as none of the adults seemed to mind that she was drifting across the room.

Down the hallway of the sitting room, she could see the glass paned door to the dining room where the servants were still setting up. To the right of the door sat the boy from earlier. He did not move other than to blink and he looked very much like a doll. Quietly, she approached him and stood an arm's length away. This made the boy look up.

''Hello,'' she greeted, ''My name is Clara. What's your's?''

The boy remained silent, and before he could even answer, the guests had been called to dinner.

''Clara, do not go running off, dear, '' Sophia noticed the boy. ''Oh, why are you sitting in as place like this? Is your mother in charge of cooking?''

''Aunt Sophia, may I sit next to him at the table?''

The boy still did not reply. It was explained by a passing maid, the selfsame one that spent all afternoon chasing after him, that it was punishment for not eating earlier. It would teach him manners quickly, although apparently this was not the first time it's happened.

The guests enjoyed their dinner and the night crept on into the later hours and still the boy sat on the chair. Lavish courses were served and laughter went around.

''My, Clara,'' said one of the gentleman, "Your dining manners are impeccable."

"Of course!" Sophia answered in her stead. "She spends most of the time bothering the servants that I made sure she learned something at least."

"Is that so? How long will she be staying with you then?"

"Until my brother can find a new governess. The last one was dismissed and he seemed adamant to not tell me why. My home is far too big for myself in either case. I'm glad to have her. I hope the country air will do her constitution some good."

Clara remained quiet, even when she was the topic of conversation.

''And Clara, what is your favorite thing to do while staying with your Aunt?''

Now apart of the conversation, Clara straightened up. "Reading. I've read many of the books in her library."

A round of impressed remarks filled the dining room.

As the clock struck ten, the same maid from before was seen scolding the boy. The party, now full of food and good wine, were to make their way back to their rooms to retire for the night. By the time they exited the dining room, the boy had left.

As the night crept on, the manor had become still with sleep. The servants had finished their clean up and gone to bed and the guests were fast asleep. All except one. A door opened slowly and out peeked Clara. During the day, she was never out of sight of her Aunt and thus wouldn't be allowed get away for proper exploration. With her asleep, however, no one would have to know. She had the mansion to herself.

All he wanted was something to eat, but the comfort of his 'Mama' did little to satiate the paings. Like Papa, Mama wasn't so much a who as a what. A fluffy, cream colored blanket to be precise, one he had owned since infancy. It brought him comfort inn place of the real thing he could only imagine. The guests were having such a good time. Why couldn't he be apart of it? And with someone around his age, yet he was denied a chance to play with her.

Instead what he got was a strange man who knew his name. Everyone else just called him Young Master. He had been given supper under the strangest request from his Uncle ; to eat like a common dog a punishment for removing his clothes. He hoped to never do that again. Too many things had happened today. How was he to sleep? The minutes ticked on as he cuddled his blanket when the distant sound of footsteps startled away any fuzziness of sleep. They approached his room in a steady fashion. Was it his Uncle? He still wasn't sure if he liked him.

The footsteps were right outside his door, but they continued on. Gilbert hadn't realized he was holding his breath. Who was walking around at this hour? Was it - _him_? His curiosity too great, he quietly moved to the door and cracked it open. The hallway was empty, cast in shadow, but the footsteps sounded sharper. Daring to look more, he saw a silhouette down the hall and immediately recognized it to be the girl from before. He wanted to call out, but knew from previous experience that he would be in trouble for making noise so late. And she would be in trouble if she was caught wandering around.

Without really realizing it, he followed her.

The mansion was vast for someone so small, even more so at night when much was obscured by darkness, but the girl showed no fear. She walked onward, her steps steady and assured, like she knew where she was going. Gilbert became increasingly worried that they would get lost, as he had done on many occasion. He was much smaller than she and thus could not keep up pace without nearly going into a jog.

At a hallway junction, the girl had decided she would take the right hallway, but as her figure threatened to disappear around the corner leaving Gilbert far behind, he finally found his voice.

"Wh-where are you going?" He cried.

The girl stopped and took a strangely long moment to look back at the boy, as if only numbly realizing she was being followed. But her face, or what he could see of it through the faint moonlight through the windows, became delighted.

"Nowhere," she said calmly, "and everywhere." With that, she disappeared around the corner.

Gilbert followed after, all but running to catch up. How could she possibly be so far ahead when her pace was hardly brisk?

"Why?"

"I'm looking for someone, or something, or somewhere. Or nothing at all!" She spoke as if the answer were obvious and satisfactory. Now she was walking faster, skipping and twirling down the empty hallway in nothing but her night gown, hair flowing.

Desperate to not be left behind, Gilbert shouted the only thing he could think of, that it might make her stop.

"My name is Gilbert!" He had wanted to tell her before but the punishment of sitting kept him from speaking. As he hoped, she stopped and looked back at him. "My name- it's-" but he was unable to finish his sentence as his shuffling caused him to trip over his own feet. He tumbled to the floor and murmured exclamations of pain.

And before him was the frilled hem of a nightgown. Looking up, he found Clara to be standing before him, though he hadn't heard her approach. She was looking down at him with a most charming smile, one that could speak anything and he would listen. She looked childish and kind. The way the moonlight through the window illuminated her hair in a halo like effect, her eyes shimmering.

A hand was offered down to him in a slow and graceful manner. No one had ever asked for his own hand. His was always ignored or simply taken.

"Hello, Gilbert. Won't you come away with me?"

The words punctured his small mind. Something about the phrase or the way it was spoken immediately clung to him. With only the faintest hesitation, he took her hand, and the pair continued on down the hallway.

He could not remember how long they were out or when exactly they turned to his room. They had walked all over, mostly upstairs to the lesser used rooms. He was so tired when they returned that the last thing he remembered was being tucked into bed and then a most peculiar feeling. At first there was a tickle, a gentle warmth where she placed her lips upon the corner of his forehead. Never had he experienced such a wash of comfort and somewhere in his small mind, he knew such a sensation was what he longed for when he held his blanket.

He held tightly onto that lingering memory, as it would be a long while - for him at least - until he saw she or any of the other guests again.

* * *

I came across this manga/ova a couple years ago and got this idea in my head that wouldn't leave unless I actually wrote it down. I've been working on this story for the last few months, repeatedly reading and going through the manga portion I'm rewriting here to find details and more details for this idea to make sense.

It's a tragic story and one I felt a little weird writing in parts but I couldn't not write. My notebook has about 60 pages written and I've done about 3/4 of the story including adding my own bits cause then this whole thing turned into a catalyst for a theme I'd been wanting to write for ages anyway.

If you're reading this you've probably read the manga so if anything, a majority of this until Bonnard comes in will be pretty familiar but covering a different sort of... relationship aspect and probably a lot of glossing over certain parts.

Ok thank you bye I hope you like it. I made my own little playlist of songs that I used for a 'soundtrack', you can find it with / watch?v=_yQpU_73Dv0&list=PLvR60TKSGyVNrt7PP8fnIjvDRjrtsf2Hp


	2. Chapter 2

There was a mounting suspicion over the absence of their host over the following days. The guests had been left much to their own devices for entertainment and company, which had not been the intention for having traveled so far to Marseilles. Not even at dinner were they graced with the company of Monsieur Beau. They had thought, perhaps, he had fallen ill, yet he seemed as healthy as could be when they arrived. Then there was the strange remark from a pair of maids regarding he and his nephew and how they had been so inseparable since reuniting.

Whatever it was, there was nothing that could be done about it. So they had reign of the manor and its surroundings to enjoy for themselves.

The excitement during their evening get together was a welcome change of pace, for that night they would again be in the company of August, and this time with the Master of the House, heir to the Cocteaus. A person they had only heard mention of through talk of August's family.

They were certainly surprised when their guests was none other than the child they had seen days prior. They had awaited a proper greeting since their arrival and were not disappointed. The boy held an elegant confidence worthy of any adult. And an expression to match for being so young.

Dinner went by quickly with their conversation and soon enough they retired to the patio for music and dance. The festivities were joyous and it was little wonder that Gilbert had gravitated towards Sophia, even with all the adults vying for his attention and fawning. Unknown to their guests, there was a plan set in motion for that evening. He worried if he went off script, his Uncle would be mad with him. He had learned over the week how strange and how cruel he could be.

The adults were enjoying a game of cards or drink and conversation, activities which children could not attend. It was during a lull in their activities that he found himself looking for a specific face. The girl he had seen that night days ago; Clara. He stood at the stairs looking out into the garden, for he did not see lace nor red hair of the girl on the patio. Had she gone to bed? Perhaps she was upset with him for spending most of the evening with the adults.

The thought saddened him greatly when something small and delicate fluttered passed his vision. It was a butterfly with wings as white and fragile as moonlight. He felt compelled to follow it. The insect lilted along down the stairs and across the grass as if guiding him, in the direction of the fountain hidden away by landscaped shrubs and trees.

There near the stone rim, gazing into the water of the large basin, she stood in utter ethereal peace. She might have just touched the surface of the water with her extended hand, as a ripple distorted the reflection of the full moon. Her attention turned to him and he stopped walking, waiting, frozen. Was she smiling? Or was it the way the moon lit her features? She raised her hand to him, though said nothing, and yet looked every bit as inviting as she had the last they met. Just as before, he moved without thinking, taking her hand and feeling as though he were in a dream. A word made hazy by the feeling inside him. She felt dreamlike, too, so much so Gilbert dared not let go of her hand should she disappear. She seemed so kind and warm with a newfound comparison to his Uncle.

The two sat down on the wide rim of the fountain and felt the moments tick by slowly. Clara filled the quiet with words of little nothings, mentions of what she did with her week. That she went to the shore with her Aunt and collected sea shells, or when she found his rabbit running down a hallway.

"You've named him 'Papa', did you not?"

"Mm, he's my Papa."

"But what of your real Papa?"

"He is real! He's my Papa!" Gilbert retorted, in a childlike exasperation. He didn't have words of explanation of whys or hows, that's just how things were. He didn't know anything else. He didn't know anyone else.

"And your Mama? Is she here, as well?"

"Of course she is! She-" his words stopped in his throat, he couldn't finish the sentence. It still hurt. He was visibly shaken by the question and withdrew into himself, bringing his knees up to hide his face. He mumbled into the fabric of his pants. "She was taken away."

A weight came upon his shoulders and he became all too aware of a closeness of another body. A sensation he was still getting used to but this one felt different. There was no alarm in his mind that rang a warning, he did not want to run.

And after a time of mutual quiet, she considered him and said, "You remind me of a boy I read in a story."

"A boy?"

"A Prince, who lived lonely in his castle. One day he found he could go on a grand adventure if he only knew where to look."

"What happened to him?"

"He lived happily ever after, they always do."

Gilbert looked down at his feet. "Then, I want to be like him."

"Then, would you like me to call you Little Prince?"

The idea must have been strange by the expression he wore, but which was greatly muted from how he'd been days ago. "If you want," he said dismissively.

"You're such a strange boy." Her words were amused, caught in a giggle.

"Wh-" Gilbert started, "You're strange too!"

Clara did not seem surprised by his response. "Everything's a little strange, the world would be so boring if it weren't. Now then, Little Prince, what shall we do? Shall we go on a grand adventure?"

"To where?"

Clara's smile was small but full of a quiet delight. She looked behind them towards the glass-like water of the fountain. The full moon was reflected fully, and looked real enough to touch.

"The world on the other side of the water. Where strange creatures live."

"In the water?"

"No, the water is only a means to get to where they are. There's many ways to find them, you just have to look in the right places." She let go of him and stood up. "Still reflections of the moon, places were fairies dance and leave rings of mushrooms, pools of water that weren't there went you looked and aren't there when you look again."

He looked at her blankly, quite lost. Processing what she was saying but not understanding what it meant.

Smiling sympathetically, she held her hands out to him and pulled him off the rim to his feet. She was talking to a child and had to remember how differently they thought, even with only a handful of years between them.

"If you don't wish to go there, how about tomorrow we play a game? It's very easy, I play it with my dolls all the time. It's called 'House'. You can play the Papa, I'll be Mama and my doll, Beatrice, will be our child."

Gilbert liked games, he rarely got to play with anyone, and it seemed with that suggestion, he forgot all else he had been thinking of moments before. "Okay!"

"You shouldn't be wandering around in the dark. I've been told you are unwell, Clara. It's no longer the season to be in the garden this late." The sharp voice of Lord August snapped them back to the reality of where they were and that they weren't alone. Clara let go of Gilbert's hands and both turned to face him. His presence came at a great surprise to them both.

"Gilbert, come here." The command seemed innocent enough and yet Gilbert did not move. "Well? That's enough playing."

Gilbert slowly conceded and went to his uncle's side in what looked like defeat, returning to the party. He was under the firm thumb of his Uncle, unable to refuse the plan in place. He was made to drink alcohol for the first time and being so small, immediately felt its affect.

Lady Sophia was summoned under the guise of wanting an innocent goodnight kiss and off she happily went. She had taken quite a shine to the boy.

The night ended in a hectic, concerned chaos heralded by Lady Sophia's scream. Clara had been quickly taken to bed, leaving her with the dissatisfaction of not knowing what happened until later when overheard Sophia still in hysterics and a doctor had been called.

The child had wanted a goodnight kiss, but not in the childlike sense one would have expected. In her shock, she had pushed the boy away. Thankfully aside from a few scratches, no one was seriously injured. Gilbert would be fine; Sophia, however, would not, and the following morning they announced their immediate return to Paris.

Clara's items were packed and carried downstairs, but she lingered still, wanting to pay one last visit to Gilbert's room. He was still in bed, slowly recovering from the intoxicating alcohol. His eyes were closed and he looked like a doll, so pale with golden hair.

With a brush of her fingers, she moved several stands from his face, which roused him from sleep.

"Hello, Little Prince," she spoke softly. "I've come to say goodbye."

Gilbert sat up, groggy and unbalanced and nearly toppled over onto her. "No! You can't go! I don't want you to go!" He cried, holding onto the sleeve of her travel jacket.

"I have to." She looked at his alarmed expression and pat the side of his head. "I'm staying with my Aunt. I go where she goes. But I will write to you as often as I can." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a soft, folded handkerchief with a butterfly embroidered in the corner and pressed it into his hand. "Keep this, so you won't forget me."

From down the hall shouted a voice, "Miss Clara, the carriage is ready to leave!"

Clara stood up from the bed but Gilbert grabbed her hand. "No! Please!"

It couldn't be helped, they both knew this. Clara looked at the boy as though one might a small kitten and pressed a kiss into the corner of his forehead. Without another word, she quickly left, his hold of her hand lingering to the fingertips.

And he cried. He was alone again. All alone, save for his Uncle.

_Marseilles 1874_

In the time that followed, Gilbert had grown accustomed to the odd and aggressive treatment from his Uncle. He was a child born without parents, and as such had only the forest and ocean to teach him. He had no education and yet held and air of dignity no schooling could have taught him. A free spirit, he slept when he wanted and woke when he wanted. His Uncle hardly made any attempt to change this, leaving him be for the most part.

The memory of Clara had become fuzzy in his mind. Memories turned to vague sensations or emotions like remembering a dream. The only evidence that she had existed remained in the handkerchief she had left him, hidden away safely in a place Augu wouldn't find it. On some nights, he would hold it in his hands and breathe in the fading scent of perfume and be reminded of a sensation that was receding into the far corners of his memory.

"Mama?" He would say, though the word sounded so strange.

_Marseilles 1876_

Gilbert waited patiently, quietly, outside of Augu's study where the butler had entered moments before. He noticed the quietness of the manor these days. There used to be a bustling of footmen and maids but many of the workers had resigned since his Uncle's return. He could fathom why but hardly cared for the reasoning. His Uncle was strange and that was how things were.

The door opened and the old butler stepped out, looking displeased as always but knowing he had little standing in how things were run anymore. Gilbert stared at him pointedly, and was relieved when he was gestured to follow.

A letter was placed in his hands, with the same floral print stamped into the sealing wax. With hardly a thank you, the boy departed for a more private place in which to read it.

Four letters had arrived since the day their only guests had left. Each one he had read a dozen times over and kept them in the same place as the handkerchief. Clara's words were written in the same kindness she had spoken to him. She wrote of many things: how she had returned to her home with a new governess, how her health had improved, how her Aunt had retired to the country side, and of what bookstores she went to and what she bought. All so causal and yet gave Gilbert a sense of having been there as well, away from this isolated place.

He was a boy made ethereal. His very image fragile as gossamer, yet with a fire and tenacity behind his eyes. He was more with nature than with society and no one knew what to make of him. After Papa, he was always keeping wildlife as pets, his only friends who understood him better than anyone, until one day a fox hunt went awry.

He only had his Uncle for attention, and in order to earn it he first needed to manipulate him into a state of agitation. His Uncle only paid him any mind when he was angry. Like a game of cat and mouse, each one trying to have the upper hand until one day it came at a high price.

A man by the name of Bonnard had shown a keen interest in the boy, and his fascination culminated into kidnapping, and ripping away something so precious to a child. And Augu, as cold as he was, did something far more heinous in an effort to make him pure once more.

This act only sharpened Gilbert's view of the world and others even more. How everyone had a motive and how no one would come to him if he called. That he was alone, and by some fate he was meant to remain that way.

His mind did what it could to cope. What he couldn't find in his Uncle, he sought in others. Tutors and teachers, friends of his Uncle and other guests, they were no different. Everyone could be evaluated by sensation alone, and through that, their intentions could be laid bare. And yet nothing gave him the satisfaction he sought. A connection. Still he found a ready comfort in the letters worn crease-less by countless readings, the perfume barely clinging on, the words flowing into one another, and the feel of the handkerchief.

It reminded him of something, but his mind could no longer recall what exactly. So fractured it had become that as it mended together, some pieces were left forgotten, their sharp edges cutting into his thoughts and leaving him bereft of something. What was it?

But even that, he could not hold onto forever. August had found one of the letters, read it, and in so doing, had taken away the piece of something Gilbert had kept for himself. With it, his Uncle would use a new method of weapon, of manipulation, mocking him for his connection to that silly girl. To bring doubt that she genuinely cared for him anymore. To bring him pain from something that had only brought him comfort before. Gilbert would not let him have this, and thus burned the rest of the letters and the cloth in the fire place.

He was a boy who's instinct was an impossible desire for something he knew not the word for but searched everywhere, in everyone, for even a glimpse. A soul that thought itself free when truly it was trapped in a cage set upon it by another's hands.

And time and time again, this view of the world would become even more black and white. If the world would be cruel to him, he would be cruel right back. If that was how he could keep what little tenderness he had safe…

* * *

Okay so the end of this chapter is kinda weird and clunky cause I really didn't wanna write out the three or four chapters that came after the first two. If you're reading the manga in tune with this it'll probably be easier to just read those chapters and come back after Gilbert stabs the guy cause that's where my next chapter picks up again.

It's also really really weird trying to write this from his pov…

I read like so much old timely books to try to get a feel for how they wrote and I don't think I did any of it justice. It's really hard to write.. poetically. I hope it all makes sense somehow..

I also had a little issue with the dates, the translation makes a typo in the first chapter saying it's 1892 and the rest are in the 1870s and then one in the 1880s like how are they not picking the right dates... so I hope I picked the right one..


	3. Chapter 3

_Paris 1877_

Due to an unexpected, yet unsurprising incident, in which a man had been injured by Gilbert's own hand, August had decided it would be better that the pair return to Paris. Well, return for _him_, but it would be the boy's first time to the city. It would be his first time leaving Marseilles all together.

The height of summer drew many people out into the streets, a small fishing village simply couldn't compare. Those walking and those is carriages, everyone looked resplendent in expensive dresses and suits. Every woman and man were thought beautiful by the boy. The sights and smells were overwhelming and they had only arrived that morning. At a glimpse of a boy a little younger than he, Gilbert wondered if he might make friends. It was then the boy stuck out his tongue at him that he thought, perhaps not.

Such a coincidence that in such a large city, Augu would quickly run into an old acquaintance; one Madam Litanie. A cheerful, older woman with smile lines around her eyes and a plumpness to her cheeks that if the expensive look of her gown did not give her lifestyle away, they certainly did.

Gilbert's tutoring in etiquette would quickly pay off as he introduced himself with such perfection that was beyond a boy his age that Madam Litanie was immediately enamored and insisted they attend her dinner party. Hardly a moment to rest from their journey and they were already receiving invitations to events. As though all of Paris was excited to see the poet August Beau and his nephew, who was so strange and delightful.

Gilbert had become a subject for many, made to sing and dance and act. In less than a month, he was the darling of high society. It might have gone to his head, this new form of doting adoration. He was spoiled with garments of muslin and silk and tailored shoes. Much to August's dislike, Gilbert was flourishing.

The evening of Madam Maazel's garden party was to be a gathering above all gatherings. Everyone wore their best and spared no expense for a favorable impression. There was music and dance and plenty of food, and yet everyone seemed to only have an eye for Gilbert. Guests crowded any area he was in, wanting to talk, to dance, to offer something to eat so that they might have even a moment of his time.

Since the time he had arrived, Parisian people had become just.. people. They all spoke the same, talked about the same things, but no one judged him. No one thought he was a strange boy, and on the contrary loved him for it. He was exotic, this boy from a fishing village.

As he soaked his ankle in the cool water of a fountain, alone in the quiet and finally away from the gossiping crowds, he began to recall vague memories. A fountain, and the moons reflection. What was spoken that night? He had forgotten something he hadn't wanted to, and this realization settled as a stone in his stomach.

A poet had appeared, having been so enchanted by Gilbert that he rambled on a sonnet.

There was a flutter of gentle wings that carried with them a scent so familiar but so faint that his attention was immediately piqued. Eyes wide, he knew that scent. He may have forgotten the words and the images, but the mind never forgets a smell. A whirl of emotions was all but unleashed in those few seconds. Had he imagined it? Quickly he ran, leaving behind a solitary shoe and a poet who had been admiring him.

Like chasing a dream, Gilbert knew not where he was going, only that he had to find it before the traces left him. But like a dream, like the smoke that curled from the cigars of the guests, the sensation disappeared, leaving him alone in the garden. He was still shaken when his Uncle called for him. It was time for them to leave.

In the coming days, Gilbert tried and tried again to recall that scent, that fleeting memory of a hand that faded when he reached for it. He needed to find it again. Something inside him burned with an intensity unlike anything else.

So when he was told they would not be attending Madam Litanie's party that evening, he wouldn't stand for it. He would go whether Augu permitted it or not. He might have been a child, but he was just as mature as any of the adults that would attend.

The ball was an extravagant affair, his clothes would need to match. He would make a solid impression as an independent boy. He could drink champagne and smoke a cigar just like any of them could. The gentleman were at a loss as the focus of the women was on the boy. They had lost to the charms of a child.

Even with the surplus of admiration, Gilbert could not remove the thought from his mind. Madam Litanie had been speaking with him and a gaggle of others but he was hardly paying attention. He only really noticed the lacework of butterflies on her gown. He found himself more transfixed on that than her words.

"Oh, Gilbert, do allow me to introduce you to someone!" Madam Litanie boasted, after all it was her party, she could show off anyone she wanted. She ushered the boy to the side of the dance hall where several women and men were standing in a circle chattering away.

"How lovely."

"And she only debuted this past season."

"I heard! So young and already out in society! I wasn't out until I was nearly eighteen."

He heard her voice before he could see her. The sound of her laughter pierced him faster than any realization could. As they approached, it was as if those standing in front knew on queue to step aside.

Her image was something he did not know the word to describe. It was as if everything else in the room had stopped and only she was allowed to move. A dream made reality, untouchable, yet tangible. He did not move for fear of it vanishing before his eyes, like the many times his mind tried to bring back a memory too far gone. He was sure his heart stopped the moment her eyes met his. To him, time was frozen and felt an eternity pass before it was broken.

"Hello, Little Prince."

Those words, like the scent of the perfume on the handkerchief, reached something far inside him. Suddenly everyone else existed around them again, having been silenced to view the scene.

"'Little Prince?'"

"Do they know each other?"

"His expression! Oh, he must be in love!"

Gilbert continued to stare and somehow he must have moved closer as he had to look up to meet her gaze. Words failed him over and over, and just when he thought he might have found his voice again, the orchestra strummed up the next reel and a gentleman appeared beside Clara.

"My Lady?"

Clara looked as though she herself were snapped out of some daydream and looked to the man before remembering something. She smiled politely and took his arm, to be escorted to the dance floor. As they passed Gilbert, she whispered something into his ear.

"The garden looks lovely tonight."

Finally time moved for him again but all he could do was watch as she was lead away. Her movements were graceful and elegant, each one carefully practiced. Twirls of muslin and chiffon, satin and silks moved all along the dance floor as each song played and the guests enjoyed themselves. He must have lost himself to thought as he realized the music had stopped, the dance was over and those participating were returning to their groups of conversation. But where had she gone?

The garden, she had said something about the garden, and the moment he was outside, he broke into a run. Around the twisted paths of manicured shrubs and flowers, he must have been just behind her. Traces of her perfume lead him on. Perhaps he had seen the hem of her dress flick just out of view. A lock of hair, red as fire, drift out of sight. A trail of laughter. The curl of fingers sweeping around the corner, always just ahead of him.

_"Where are you going?" A memory called out to him, hazy and swimming from the perfume._

_"Nowhere.. and everywhere!"_

He was out of breath, he would lose her. And then as quickly as the worry hit him, she was there. Standing near a stone bench framed by vases of flowers that would be the ideal place to sit on a sunny day. Only it was dark, and the way the moon highlighted her features in a soft glow had him pay no mind to the mushrooms at her feet. In the years that passed, he often wondered what he would say had they met again. All the words he might have said left him the moment she looked at him.

She raised her hand, holding it out to him, saying softly, "Would you like to come away with me?"

Gilbert's body moved on its own, bewitched as he closed the distance. Carefully, he took her hand as if fearing it would shatter, but once assured she was flesh and bone, he stepped forward and wrapped both arms firmly around her torso. He buried his face into her shoulder against her curls and inhaled that sweet, familiar scent.

Clara though surprised, did not push him away. Her own arms gently closed around him. Her warmth comforting him.

"Mama," he sighed.

They seemed to exist in their own little world, away from the party and the noise. Clara sat on the bench and Gilbert knelt at her side with his head against her legs. She played with his hair and his eyes were closed.

"I wrote you letters, did you get them?"

He nodded, but did not want to reveal their sorry fate. His hand gripped the soft fabric of her dress.

"So much has happened since I left. I would tell you everything if I only knew where to call you."

Gilbert had a sinking suspicion that, like the letters, Augu wouldn't take kindly to their meeting again.

"Mademoiselle?" A voice called from outside the garden maze. Clara started.

"Coming, Madam Celia!"

Gilbert raised his head upon feeling her stand and watched as she began to rush away. However, she stopped and extended a hand back towards him, urging him to come quickly. Without any hesitation, Gilbert stood and took it, following her out. Her hand was so warm and soft, he never wanted to let it go.

A young woman stood at the entrance of the maze, looking exasperated. Her hair was done up in a bun with spilling curls and a dark gown.

"There you are! I have told you not to go running off into the gardens at night! What if something had happened?"

"Like what?" Clara teased, still holding his hand. "That I might be taken away by the good folk? Would that be so bad?"

Celia looked at though this was a rather normal response and said nothing. She eyed Gilbert and looked like she might have said something but quickly ushered them inside.

As the night wore on, guests slowly began trickling away in their carriages. The night had been wonderful and they would certainly dream of pleasant things while sleeping off the wine. Gilbert and Clara lingered outside on the patio. An impressive rose bush climbed along the lattice fencing and the blossoms beckoned all who passed to stop and smell. Her hand held one delicately, not a single thorn pricked her.

Though Gilbert thought himself quite mature, he could not escape the childlike grip of sleepiness. Clara would walk him back to his carriage but they were halted when a man appeared before them. He seemed as ordinary as any other, perhaps a bit outlandish with his beard.

"Gilbert!"

The boy didn't reply. All at once, that feeling of a dream shattered. Sharp splinters digging into places deep and repressed, the wounds of his mind now ached like they were caused only yesterday. No matter how much he refused, his fate was always decided for him in the end.

"You remember me, don't you?"

Had the moment gone on longer, Clara might have interjected, an act unbecoming of a young lady as he was an older gentleman and she unsupervised. But as quickly as the boy had faltered, he had recovered.

"It's been a long time, Monsieur Bonnard." Gilbert's voice was calm and level. "I haven't seen you since Marseilles. At the time I was quite young, so I couldn't entertain as I wished."

"If I could have a moment of your time, I would like to talk to you-"

Gilbert turned to Clara, her face politely neutral as though nothing were out of the ordinary. He had gone from a scared child to his former adult-like composure. There was no time for questions.

"Monsieur, have you met Clara?"

"I don't believe I have." Bonnard must have not realized she was even there by his side hesitance. "It is a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle."

Clara bowed her head in greeting, but spoke to Gilbert instead. "It is clear you have met a friend. I will see if Madam Celine is preparing to leave." She eyed the man, expression unchanging, and left the pair to speak on the patio.

Their conversation had ended shorter than she might have imagined, as Gilbert returned to her side as the last of the carriages were in the driveway awaiting their passengers.

"Your hand, it is bleeding, Little Prince." She had escorted him to his carriage and watched him enter. He seemed less keen on leaving and remained in the doorway.

"You must be careful of roses, their thorns are never far. Please take care of it when you return home." His slim fingers held onto hers. She leaned forward. Gilbert might have thought he would receive a kiss. It wouldn't be the first time. Instead she whispered in his ear an address, and before she departed for her own carriage she smiled.

"You may call on me whenever you wish. I will see you soon, Little Prince."

* * *

Do you ever have a scene in your head for a story that you're determined to get into the thing somehow? In this chapter it would be the part where they are reunited and she greets him with his nickname. I don't know why I was so fixed on that scene, it just sounded really nice and otherworldly all things considered.

There was also a common thing I was trying to do with the whole 'won't you come away with me bit', in that if this were a part of the manga, would appear one more time towards the very end.

I figure I'd mention the faceclaims for both Clara and Gilbert. Should they be strictly anime/manga in your mind, Gilbert is Gilbert and Clara is 'Irene' who appears in one of the earlier chapters where the students go to Arles for the day. I just really liked her design. Just give her waist length red hair and gray-green eyes and there you go. This is an a/u in which her name is Clara.

If it's live action people imagine, then Gilbert is Pavel Chernyshev, from the movie The Star Child or 'Skazka o zvezdnom malchike', which at the time of posting is available on YouTube. Clara would be Valarie from Valerie and her Week of Wonders, which is also available on YouTube. Sometimes she changes in my mind but I haven't found anyone else that suits the reference.


End file.
